


I Didn't Like that Carpet Anyway

by does_that_scare_you



Category: The Gentlemen (2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Beating, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Sexual Humor, Spit As Lube, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27460054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/does_that_scare_you/pseuds/does_that_scare_you
Summary: Never minding the anger in Ray's stare, Fletcher could get used to having him sit on his bed like this.
Relationships: Coach/Raymond Smith, Fletcher/Raymond Smith
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	I Didn't Like that Carpet Anyway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sierra_roe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierra_roe/gifts).



> I watched the movie yesterday and I am already obsessed. I have never written anything so quickly. I should be sleeping. Enjoy.

Fletcher has lost count of how many times good old Doña Perez from downstairs had slammed her broom against her own ceiling on this evening. He knew that it was quater past five on a Wednesday, meaning that it was time for her Telenovelas and that it was sheer impossible to listen to the by tears muffled love confessions over his deafening music.

Still, he couldn't be bothered to tune the radio down and as long as Don Perez didn't come back from his weekly card play, it wouldn't be necessary either. So, he kept on whistling and humming to himself as he turned the bathroom upside-down in the search for hair gel; louder even than the music and Doña's curses together.

This would be a fantastic evening. A fancy restaurant, a girl willing to talk - even better: trusting him - and a headline on Friday morning that would shake the core of the United Kingdom like an earthquake.

Upside, inside out! She's livin' la vida loca!

Fletcher is the kind of man that rather yells than sings, even though he is aware of the fact that he could make his voice purr like a cat, if the situation required it. The dinner was set for seven o'clock, but the drive was rather long, so it was reasonable to start with the dressing rather sooner than later. It didn't take him much to finish; in fact, he was only missing one thing: said godforsaken hair gel.

He looked around once again, in vain. Then he recalled having thrown away the empty tube just last night. The inspective journalist sighed; slowly getting annoyed. If he was lucky, he still had one left in the upper drawer of the dresser, facing his bed. With a vigorous jerk, Fletcher unplugged the radio on top of the washbasin and left the bathroom, leaving the lights on and the cable dangling; almost touching the tiles.

Without the music, his flat seemed somehow smaller, darker. It was the beginning of November, so the sun had set around an hour ago and the fact that his home had barely windows didn't help much either. It had bothered him two years ago, as he had bought it, but not anymore, considering that he could move whereever he wanted should this evening be succesful. 

His bedroom door was open, which was unusual. The heating here didn't work very well either, so especially in autumn and winter he had to keep that door closed to keep all the warmth inside the room. He blamed the music, being certain of it having distracted him. Maybe it was good after all that he was out of hair gel, because now he wouldn't come back to icy sheets.

He didn't care to look for the light switch as he stepped inside, knowing blindly where he would find what he needed, if there at all. After a bit of fumbling with the knob of the drawer, he finally opened it, feeling with his right hand for the hair gel.

"Very carless for a man that has as many enemies as you do, to not look around a room before feeling safe to enter it."

Fletcher felt the corners of his mouth twitch at the sound of an all-too familiar voice.

"Are you my enemy, darlin'? No, no. I don't think so. Besides - the gentleman I am - I merely wanted to give you some time to brace yourself for our reunion." 

"Quit the charade, Fletcher."

The nightstand's light was turned on, barely enough to illuminate the area around the bed. There he sat, Mickey Pearson's right hand, Mr. Raymundo Smith, all neat and posh with expenssive coat and glasses; legs crossed, hair slick.

"Only if you promise to visit me more often, Ray. I could get used to see you sitting on my bed like this."

He licked his lips.

"You know why I'm here?", Ray ignored the comment.

"'Cuz you missed me?", Fletcher tried it again, testing if he could get any reaction out of him.

"Beause you're being a nosy little shit again, Fletcher."

"Nosy little-how dare you Raymond? I don't deserve that lovely title!"

"No?", the younger man through clenched teeth, "Then why do I see your fucking car everywhere I go?"

"Somebody has to have an eye out for you, my love." The matress squeeked as if it was a pig facing a cleaver's blade. "To me it seems as if Big Mike isn't doing his job properly."

"He's my boss, not the other way 'round."

"Yes, but he could show himself a little grateful for your services by offering you a little protection. Because as far as I am concerned you have just as much enemies as I do, Raymundo."

"It's none of your motherfucking business, Fletcher."

"You made it my motherfuckin' business with the little joy ride you gave me when I was supposed to be on my way to sweet home California", Fletcher said, leaning in closer.

"So you do remember it. Means that you most probably also remember what I told you not to do."

"Sure I do, you asked me with the sweetest sounds I've ever heard to 'ah, ah-please, d-don't stop!'"

Fletcher grinned in a way that he was sure to get punched in the face for.

"I told you to never look for me or any of Mickey's trades again."

"At which part of our road trip did you say that, darlin'? Was it before or after you sucked my dick as if your life was at stakes?"

Ray took a deep breath. If it was because he didn't want to lose his shit or rather because the sentence was said right into his ear with callous lips caressing the shell, Fletcher couldn't tell.

"Have I made myself clear now? Whatever you've seen me do in the last few weeks, you'll forget and delete from your computer."

"Even your encounter with this endearing trainer?"

The younger man froze.

"Oh, I have lovely footage. Dear, I had no idea what a savage you can be if you being let in control. Je-he-sus, I thought you were going to snap him in half! How long couldn't he train his boys after you were done with him?"

"Shut up."

"You know, I thought you did that on pupose, my love. That you knew I was around and acted like that just to make me jealous. I mean, I truly enjoyed the show, but that you had to had to take that poor man into this-"

"Shut. Up."

"I wonder if Mickey knows it. That and also the fact you did far more than threatning me-"

"FUCK OFF."

The blow on Fletcher's cheek was so violent it threw him of the bed. He fell face first onto the floor, landing hard on his nose. He gasped, white, hot supernovas of pain exploding in front of his eyes. Something wet ran down his face in water falls and bewetted his lips. It was blood.

Ray didn't take long to follow him, kneeling down with an violent grace besides him. He yanked him around, fisting the collar of his leather jacket to lift towards himself. He didn't kiss him, or at least one couldn't name it like that. It was rather an agressive meeting of lips, tongues, souls. The younger man's mouth was hot, possesive, smothering. Fletcher mind went blank, feeling only the need to share this; the passion, the taste of blood infiltrating both of their bodies.

The inspective journalist stroked Ray's chest, feeling up every hard, carved muscle over towards his abdomen and the perfect bulge in his trousers. He received another slap, less forceful than the first, but enough to make him stop.

"No", Raymond snarled.

"Listen, darlin'. Love. I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up."

Fletcher actually wanted to say something else as he felt the younger man working on his belt. His hands were quick, experienced. Fletcher had seen the video over and over again. I was the proof that Ray had far more practise than he could even start to imagine. He wanted to comment that, laugh at him with bloody nose and everything, but the fierceness in his gaze tied his tongue.

As soon as the belt came lose it was tossed into a corner of the room, audibly causing something to fall and shatter. The trousers themselves followed, so Fletchers lower half was exposed except for his boxers. 

"Turn around."

The older man couldn't help but to feel his heart jump at the want breaking through the ice in his voice. This time he didn't even think about saying anything and just obeyed, pulse going painfully faster inside the irritated walls of his nostrials.

He hissed as his underwear was being pulled down roughly and cool air hit his hole. Soon after: the sound of an opening fly and the rustling of clothes behind him. Ray spat onto his own dick and smeared the saliva across it, deciding that was everything Fletcher was going to get. Tough, warm hands grabbed his waist, pulling him onto hands and knees towards the waiting erection.

There was nothing traditional or tender about the way Raymond burried himself into Fletcher. He was not extremely long, but thick and he didn't open him up first or waited until he was ready. He went all the way in, hard and with a breathless grunt. Fletcher himself moaned, pushing back, edging vicious pain. Nothing he wasn't used to.

A small "fuck" escaped Ray's lips as he began to move, pounding into Fletchers as if he had insulted his mother. He knew that he wouldn't last long if he kept doing it like this. 

"Darlin'...'s this how ya got a job at Mickey's? 'Cuz if ya do, I can't blame the man. Ya're a hell of a fuck."

A slap on his left ass cheek made him jerk.

"I don' wanna know how ye got all of yer jobs."

"What a pity. Ya know by now that I'm a great storyteller."

"Does Big Dave think the same?"

Fletcher made a face of disgust. "I do have standards, ya know?"

And they went on like that, without a rythm or aim, just rutting angrily together like the filthy animals they were.

"Say what you want, Fletch...act as smart as you want, you would give everything you have for this. Filthy whore."

"You-you know what you have signed up, darlin'...that's why you're here, huh?"

His mouth fell open into soundless gasp as Ray nailed his prostate and pressed him down; fucking him even harder into the ugly carpet. Slowly but surely, the sensation became too much and Fletcher started to pray for release. His body was flat against the floor, not being able to give himself a hand, which was become quite frustrating.

Fortunaly, Ray thrusts were becoming more uncontrolled and erratic; a good sign.

"Pretty much."

That was everything Fletcher heard before spilling his release into the carpet, trembling and panting furiously. Ray still moved inside of him in the same pace, not even trying to take it shallower, so everytime a thrust took in deeper, his insides screamed from the abuse.

Finally, the older man could feel Ray's heat spilling into him, flooding his system with a feeling of exctasy. As nothing came out anymore, he collapsed next to Fletcher on the messy floor; ripcage moving like his thrusts, hard and quick.

None of them said anything for a while, the only thing to hear was Marisol Juanez- the main character of Doña Perez' telenovela - yelling at her husband for cheating on her again.

"I'm sorry about the carpet", Ray said softly.

"Nevermind. I didn't like that carpet anyway, it's hideous. And by the way, I was never planning on publishin' it. Never", Fletcher confessed then.

"I know. You got currently something else."

"How would you know?"

"Asked your secretray."

"Well, well. Who is being a nosy little shit now, hm?"

Ray huffed a laugh. "So, what've you got?"

Fletcher smirked to himself. "Randy Andy's been a naughty boy again."

"Prince Andrew?", his eyes went wide, "What's he done now?"

"An affair."

"The way you say it sounds illegal."

"By coincidence it is."

"How?"

"A Minor."

"Shit. How old?"

"Sixteen."

Ray rubbed his eyes. "Were you going to meet her today?"

"Indeed. She can't stand the silence anymore."

"Where?"

"A restuatrant. On my costs. Of course I have insisted one closer to her place than to mine, I mean, she's been around enough sketchy old men lately."

"Clever. She'll feel more comfortable."

"That was the plan, my love. By the way, should this be just as successful as I expect it to be, I will move out of this shit-hole of flat."

"Where?"

"Oh, don't panic, darlin'. I'm never going to be far away from you. Not even if you want me to", he winked. "Knightsbridge maybe. Or Chelsea."

A pause. A plate was being thrown onto the ground in the Juanez household. Marisol screamed as if she was being possessed.

"Can I count on your visit? You can bring your lovely Coach too, if you like...I wouldn't mind...."


End file.
